A Page of Holdening
by StarvelingTheTailor
Summary: A little something i wrote for english...it deals with Holden and his shrink. We had to write one page of creative goodness in Holden's voice...and here it is! please read a/n!


**Please Read**

**a/n**

Alright. Let me explain a little before you start reading. One: I do not own Holden, Allie, or _Catcher in the Rye_. Two: you must know that we spent an entire English class once talking about how the whole thing with Mr. Antolini (the 'molestation', remember?) could have been him being like, fatherly, since Mr. A is kind of a father figure to holden…..yea. So I thought "Holden says that pervy stuff always happens to him, but what if he only _thought _they were pervy?"

On with the story!

That kind of stuff's happened to me about twenty times since I was a kid. I can't stand it.

I remember this one time, right after I hurt my hand, I had a shrink. I can't really remember his name to hot. Funny, I'm usually really god with names. I hate shrinks. They're so phony. And I mean that, too. They all try and pretend like they know you. Like they _understand_. All they really want is to make a quick buck from making conversation with crazy people. Phony. I couldn't stand him; I never answered any of his goddamn questions. I would just stare at him… with that goddamn clipboard and that goddamn mustache of his. He really looked like a rat or something had died on his face. No kidding.

I used to think I might like to become a shrink one day. I wouldn't be a phony. Not at all. I would _help_ people. But then, how could you help people if they all thought that you were a phony? Would you get tired if all they did was stare at you, every day? But if they were a sharp kid, they would be able to tell that you weren't a phony. Or that you were. But if no really sharp kids came along, and you hated your job, but you needed it to pay the bills and all that, then you would want to make a quick buck by making conversation with crazy people. Not that I would be worth it. I mean, there are some real loonies out there. It's dangerous, talking to crazy people and all.

Anyway, my shrink…he was a real sonuvabitch. He smiled all friendly all the time, and while asking the worst questions. That killed me. I mean, if you're trying to find out why someone broke all the windows in their garage, what the hell did it matter what their friends were like at school? Not that I had any anyway. I hated that school. I really did. And he would talk about himself a lot. What use was that? I hardly ever listened. Something about his brother, and sledding when he was fourteen.

Once, I stared out the window the whole entire meeting. No reason, I just felt like it. The next time I saw him, he asked my why. I just shrugged. He told me to tell him what I was thinking right at that very moment. I had been wondering how people learned to skateboard. I tired it once, and I fell into some thorny bush in the park and got all bloody. I tried again, but I kept falling down. I was bleeding all over, so I sat on a bench. Then a funny thing happened. All these ducks came rushing over like I was the best thing to happen to them since they were all born. I tried to make them leave me alone, but they squawked at me, so I stopped. I think they had gotten the idea that I had some food to give them. There were people all around, mostly old people and little kids with their parents, feeding the other ducks. I always thought ducks were wild animals…they shouldn't wait around for someone to feed them. They might starve to death.

The shrink guy asked me if my dead brother knew how to skateboard. I don't know why, but that made me so angry. I could have taken his eyes out right there.

I got up and started screaming at him. I don't remember what I said, but I know I was just yelling and screaming and stomping and I even sort of hit him a few times.

All of a sudden, he got up and sort of gave e a hug. I was really upset about that. I told him to get his hands off me, but he just kind of rubbed my back and talking in a low voice and all that flitty stuff. That really gave me the creeps. Rubbing people's backs, I heard somewhere that that's something flits do. I never even realized I was crying; I dint care. I wanted him to get the hell off me. His arms went real tight around me, and he made this blubbering sound like he was crying or something. And I bet he was, too, that pervy flit.

Then I kicked him and ran the hell out of there as fast as I could. I never went back.


End file.
